


Overindulgence

by renecdote



Series: hc_bingo 2017 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a good dad, Gen, Halloween, Lots of candy, Nausea, Overindulgence, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: Young Dick eats too much candy his first Halloween at the Manor.





	Overindulgence

**Author's Note:**

> For the “nausea” square on my hurt/comfort bingo card. Thanks to the anon on Tumblr who suggested Dick. The idea for this hit me a few days ago but I’ve only just had a chance to write it because I had essays due. But it’s still Halloween somewhere in the world right?
> 
> Warnings for nausea and vomiting if that's something you don't like, but nothing graphic.

Another bowl of treats joins the plate of bat-shaped cookies on the table set up just inside the front door. Wayne Manor, Dick has learnt, is a sort of pilgrimage destination for kids on Halloween. Alfred not only buys the top quality standard Halloween candy from the store, but goes all out making homemade treats. Ghostly meringues, marshmallow witches, mini candy apples, little cakes shaped like pumpkins. There are even a few healthier alternatives but Dick’s eyes drift right over them and land on the bowl of homemade peanut butter cups.

A quick glance around shows that Alfred and Bruce are still in the bowels of the Manor preparing for the night, so Dick’s hand darts forward and quickly snatches one of the candies. Alfred has made a mountain of Halloween treats, surely they won't notice one missing. He bites into the chocolate and peanut butter creation with relish. Alfred had let him try one just after he'd made them and Dick has been craving more ever since. He's sure there must be witchcraft involved because they're so much better than the store bought ones.

“Dick!” Bruce calls from down the hall and Dick jumps away from the table guilty. He chews and swallows quickly before shouting back, “Coming!”

Bruce is taking him trick-or-treating. Somewhat reluctantly, Dick thinks, because he knows his mentor would rather be out on the streets dressed as a bat instead of walking around collecting candy in the Sherlock Holmes costume Dick had picked out for him. Although maybe he's just grumpy about it because Dick is dressed as Superman.

“Are you ready to go?” Dick asks as soon as he reaches the study where Bruce has been hiding most of the day. He bounces a few times on the balls of his feet, grinning widely, every nerve alight with eager anticipation. He’s been looking forward to Halloween all month.

Bruce looks him over with suspicious eyes and Dick reminds himself that there's no way Bruce knows he's been stealing candy from the treat table. He still finds himself holding his breath though, until Bruce grunts and says, “Yes. I was just looking over the map of where we’ll go.” Because it's  _ Bruce _ so of course there's a planned route.

They start at the mansion Wayne Manor shares a border with and Dick thanks the housekeeper who dumps a handful of candy in his pumpkin-shaped bucket. A kid dressed as Robin peeks out from behind her legs and Dick gives him a toothy grin and a wink that makes him duck away shyly. There aren't many more places nearby, so once Dick has charmed extra candy out of the housekeepers at two more estates, Bruce bundles him into the car and they drive into Gotham proper. Large groups of costumed children and adults wander through the streets and Dick drags Bruce along just as eagerly. 

By the time they’re back in the car headed toward the Manor, Dick has a full bucket of treats and is happily munching on a Hershey’s bar. He rifles through the rest of his hoard, making a face at the liquorice and grabbing eagerly for a mini packet of skittles.

“Don't eat all that at once,” Bruce warns him. “You'll make yourself sick.”

Dick sticks out his tongue, stained with colours from the skittles he's been eating. “I know, B, I’m not a little kid.”

Bruce “hmm”s in that way that means he's disbelieving but he doesn't push the matter. It either means he's decided to trust that Dick knows how much junk food he can eat before it makes him ill, or he assumes arguing with an eight-year-old full of sugar will be pointless. 

Bruce does make sure the candy gets left downstairs when Dick is shuffled off to bed though, the hour late enough that Alfred has put his foot down on either of them going out for patrol. For once, Bruce listens to him, probably because of the quip Alfred threw in about setting a good example for impressionable young boys who need to understand that even heroes take nights off. And he does his parental duty by saying, “Brush your teeth before you go to sleep.”

Dick sticks his tongue out again but does as he's told. He rolls into bed feeling very full and happy. But as minutes pass, dragging toward an hour, and he's still awake, he begins to feel more full and less happy. His bloated stomach churns slowly as it tries to digest all the candy and chocolate Dick has filled it with tonight. Rolling over to try find a more comfortable way of lying makes it slosh and swirl, and when he cautiously rubs his stomach it gurgles unhappily.

The sweet, sticky taste of too much sugar coasts his tongue and the roof of his mouth, mingly with the minty flavour of toothpaste. Dick scrapes his teeth over his tongue in a vain attempt to get rid of the sickly combination of tastes. Maybe eating all that candy hadn't been such a good idea. He feels utterly miserable. 

Dick crawls out of bed and feels his way down the hallway in the dark until he reaches Bruce’s bedroom. Bruce is a heavy sleepy and the door doesn't even squeak as it's pushed open to alert him to the child creeping into his room. When he reaches the edge of the bed, Dick just stands there a moment, wishing Bruce would just magically open his eyes and see him because he feels guilty about waking him up. But in the end he feels more sick than guilty.

“Bruce,” he whispers. One bony finger reaches out to poke the man in the shoulder. “Bruce, I don't feel good.”

Bruce grunts, still mostly asleep, and lifts the edge of the comforter so his ward can climb into the bed. Dick hesitates because he still feels really sick, but Bruce always makes him feel better after nightmares or panic attacks. Maybe his presence will help Dick forget the unhappiness of his stomach long enough to drift off and sleep off the Halloween overindulgence.

He crawls carefully between the sheets and curls up with his back to Bruce, a protective arm hugging his stomach. Bruce makes another sleepy noise, this one more like a hum, and his hand clumsily pats Dick’s neck (Dick suspects he was aiming for either his shoulder or his head) before falling back down to the space between them.

Dick lies there with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to match his breathing to Bruce’s deep, even rhythm and trick his body into falling asleep. But he keeps getting distracted by the circus act performing in his stomach, trapeze artists swinging and flipping and twirling and falling-

He sniffs. He already feels bad enough without his mind conjuring up images of That Night. Coming to Bruce was supposed to make him feel better but now Dick is just wishing his mother was here to rub his tummy the way she did whenever he got a stomach ache before.

He swallows down a sickly burp that seems to stick between his ribs. His chest feels tight and bubbly. Maybe if he burps, though, he’ll feel a bit better. He forces his muscles to relax, absently rubbing his sternum to relieve the discomfort. Instead of burping, though, he hiccups, and sour bile jumps up his throat.

Dick sits up in alarm, hand flying up to cover his mouth.

“Dick?” Bruce mumbles, awareness bleeding through the fog of sleep in response to his young ward’s distress. “Wha’s wrong?”

Dick opens his mouth say that he _ really  _ doesn't feel good now, but his body beats him to it. His stomach contracts and only the hand over his mouth protects the bed covers from projectile vomit. What follows is a mad scramble to the toilet in Bruce’s en suite and a disgusting reacquaintance with all the chocolate and candy Dick had indulged in.

When his stomach has finished emptying itself, Dick collapses back against the cool porcelain of Bruce’s fancy spa bath with a grimace. “Don't say it,” he groans.

“Say what?” Bruce asks, offering him a bottle of water to rinse his mouth out. Dick accepts it gratefully and spits into the toilet bowl.

“I told you so.”

“I don't think I need to,” Bruce says. He brushes Dick’s hair back and gently wipes a damp cloth over his face. “I'm sure you’ve learnt your lesson about overindulgence.”

Dick nods, eyelids drooping as exhaustion from trick or treating and being sick catches up to him. “‘M never eating candy again,” he swears as Bruce picks him up and puts him back to bed.

His resolve lasts all of twelve hours until he wanders into the kitchen and finds his stash of remaining Halloween candy waiting for him. But this time he takes care to use moderation. And he makes sure to sneak a few pieces of liquorice down to the Bat Computer for Bruce as a thank you for looking after him and not saying ‘I told you so’.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](tantalum-cobalt.tumblr.com).


End file.
